Where the Tides Hide Their Memory

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Where the Tides Hide Their Memory

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Guest
Guest
Jul 30, 2025
6:16 AM

Picture this.

You're standing barefoot at the edge of the ocean. The air is large with sodium, the atmosphere decorated in bruised purples and firelight from the desperate sun. The dunes competition forward, styling and breaking at the feet, before slipping quietly back in the depths.

But this isn't just water touching you.

Since every tide… carries memory.

Exactly the same wave that brushes against your ankles tonight after taken over sides you'll never know. It hidden forgotten towns, cooled lava because it built from newborn volcanoes, and drowned forests that existed before individuals actually wanted strolling upright. It moved the ashes of shoots that burnt out a lot of years ago. It's used the bones of sailors who faded in to the night, their sounds swallowed by wind and water.

And now it touches you.

The wave requires pieces of the planet with it every time it retreats — cereals of sand from hills that dropped way back when, covers that once sheltered lives smaller than the usual fingernail, fragments of stone and glass worn clean from centuries of tumbling. Where do they go? To the areas we can't see. In to trenches deeper than Everest is large, in to black canyons wherever gentle hasn't touched, in to currents that group the globe like arteries.

The wave covers every thing it gathers, burying the world's thoughts in a silence too huge for all of us to break.

We inform ourselves we realize it. We graph their patterns, construct walls and harbors to fight it, title the hours when it will increase and fall. But the hold doesn't value our measurements. It has never belonged to us. It listens and then the moon.

That light ghost in the sky, distant and untouchable, draws at the oceans every moment of each and every day. The water extends toward it, increasing to generally meet its unseen hand. And once the moon converts out, the water falls back. This silent tug-of-war has shaped the world for billions of years. Actually the deepest seas are tethered to anything beyond themselves.

Yet the tide is changing.

It's creeping farther inland now. Glaciers are melting in to their depths, heating seas are swelling its human anatomy, and shorelines are vanishing piece by piece. Islands we when thought timeless are already removed, decreased to just names on old maps.

And listed here is the reality most people don't need to handle: the wave won't end for us.

We contact it disaster. The tide calls it nothing at all. It simply remains, because it generally has, using and providing, building and erasing. It's deleted whole continents before. It will do therefore again.

Is it possible to envision the near future?

The sea moves on the cities we built. Highways disappear under the dunes, their asphalt damaged and broken like old bone. Systems collapse into the surf, turning into reefs where fish drift through silent glass halls. Monuments fall, shattered and scattered until they're indistinguishable from the rocks of the seabed. Whole civilizations are paid down to pieces, overly enthusiastic by currents therefore strong we could never move against them.

And when it occurs, the wave won't roar. It won't rage. It won't mourn.

It only will remember.

Because that is what the hold does. It's the planet's memory. Every living, every surprise, every reduction is flattened in to its depths and carried forward. The wave has viewed whole sides rise and fall. It understands points no human language could ever hold.

Nevertheless the wave is not really a thief. It is really a sculptor.

It gives life to the shore. It provides vitamins to estuaries and marshlands wherever new animals are born. It shapes the sides of our planet, removing sharp stones in to delicate stones, remaking beaches with every breath. Without the hold, the planet's pulse could falter. Oceans might stagnate. Coastlines might wither.

Perhaps that's why we are attracted to it.

We head to the water's edge without generally understanding why. Kiddies chase the retreating dunes, laughing, then shriek when it rushes right back toward them. People stay at the shoreline all night, hypnotized by the rhythm, letting the sound of the lives slide away. There is something endless in the tide's air — something that calls to the part people that remembers wherever we came from.

Since we originated from the water once.

The tide carried living onto the land. It cradled the initial sensitive creatures that dared to examine from the shallows. And perhaps that's why we experience therefore small position before it today — not since it will take everything from people, but since in some deep, unspoken way, we realize it offered people everything first.

Stay there good enough, and you'll start to spot the details. The quiet whip at your legs because it pulls away. The hiss of pockets collapsing in the foam. The weak, nearly human sigh since it exhales onto the sand.

In the event that you hear closely, you could hear the tide suggesting a truth:

“Nothing you know is permanent.
But nothing is truly missing, either.”

1 day, the hold may throw over the entire world as if we were never here. The titles of our cities, the boundaries we fought wars to guard, the monuments we developed to outlive time — the whole thing is likely to be swept away, melted, and moved into the deep.

And yet… there's a strange comfort in that.

As the wave tells people that people are section of anything larger than ourselves. Something which doesn't need us, but holds us all the same. Everything we do, every thing we build, every air we get becomes element of their memory. The wave maintains it, also once we are gone.

You'll never know all so it carries. None people will.

But the next time you're at the seaside, stop. Feel the draw at your feet. Watch the dunes pull lines in the sand, then remove them without Planet. Remember that exactly the same tide touched lives you might never meet and may touch lives long following yours.

It does not subject if you forget.
The wave won't.

The tides won't ever inform us their secrets.
But if you're calm enough, you may sense them in your bones.

Anonymous
Guest
Jul 30, 2025
6:23 AM

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